life
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one of my favorite things about living in New York City is if you hop the right train (or the wrong train, even better) you can end up in another part of the world. the air carries different languages and odors, depending on which side of town you’re on. the Afro-Caribbean storefronts in Bed-Stuy display…
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abuelita aka the Notorious ABU (she doesn’t like it when I call her that) invited her friend Spiridoula K from Queens (aka tía SK) over for dinner last night. tía SK brought delicious homemade Greek pastries and an album of black and white photographs from when she was a little girl. I call her tía…
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one of the new people in group is Angelique, who went to a music and performing arts high school on the upper west side where a lot of the kids are on drugs I’ve heard. she used to drink but then she began using opioids because she says it’s not as easy to track missing…
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listen to moon words on SoundCloud moon words oh my God/kill me now/only we would lay on the New York City trains/sun and The Kills/it’s a good afternoon/like it shines on me/how strange it is to be/anything at all/let me hold it close and/keep it here with me/because kissing you/with good beats on/feels like me…
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this morning I woke up early enough to trace a rectangular patch of sun on the wall opposite to my bed. it was a long, beautiful patch, grapefruit pink sun. it’s one of my favorite things — to trace the sun, and how it paints the East River. many days I feel held together with…
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if you’re ever in nyc, look down. hiding between sidewalk cracks and under train tracks, you might find one of the people who inhabit joe’s cool, miniature world. joe is joe iurato, a street and commercial artist, and he’s amazing. he has painted on large, outdoor walls for a long time. he also makes small,…
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I feel like a punk. most teachers, Catholic School nuns, cops, and passersby on the street would say I am one. that’s the attitude that I identify with. one thing about the names people give to us, they can be a kind of injury. a punk: the rotting piece of wood used as kindling to…
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in group we tell each other you can’t recover if you don’t know what you’re recovering from. I don’t know exactly what I am recovering from. hurt, maybe? hurt is almost always telling me a truth. all this week I was thinking about the times I stood on the toilet seat holding the stall door…
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I think people see me differently than I see myself. it’s like I see myself as a giant fuck up, but now and then, here and there, I don’t know, I get the feeling that I matter. I feel this way when I’m playing and singing in group or some hole in the wall, even…
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against all real evidence things have feelings, too. they don’t love in the human way, still: my thrift shop sweater, faded red and out at the elbows, has a story. I try to imagine the places it has been and who wore it before it was mine. the torn-up Adidas are retired now but they still trash-talk to me from the…
cookie nieves 